


Quidditch, Divination, and Other Explosive Things

by onceandforall



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dangerous Flying, Flying is dangerous kids, M/M, Minor Injuries, Pining, Quidditch, Unhealthy Relationships, honestly henry is there for like .5 seconds sorry, not sorry, this is also not compliant with maggie's housing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:50:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7163831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceandforall/pseuds/onceandforall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronan needs to pass Divination in order to continue playing Quidditch. The easy thing would be to pay attention in class and then study for the tests. But with Ronan, things are never that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quidditch, Divination, and Other Explosive Things

**Author's Note:**

> first fic in a year and a half? wow. this fic took way longer than it should have, but hey, we're here! huge huge huge shoutout to [ella](http://archiveofourown.org/users/strictlyintocasnow/pseuds/ella) for the beta. ella, this fic would not have happened without you. 
> 
> enjoy reading!

The Hufflepuff Keeper, Ronan Lynch, is not someone to be taken lightly. He has fire in his eyes and plays with that spark on the court. He blocks shots with an ease that’s too fluid to be anything but natural skill and snarls out insults as fast as his lips will allow. He’s wicked sharp – both metaphorically and literally – and his throw has the type of pinpoint accuracy that shocks even the Hufflepuff chasers. While the Hufflepuff Quidditch team is nothing to be scoffed at, Ronan brings them to an entirely different level. They’re _dangerous_. They’re _lethal_. They can win the House Cup.

 

All of this is, of course, under the assumption that Ronan Lynch is able to play.

 

\--

 

Someone all but crashes into the Ravenclaw common room. They make their way to Gansey’s table, their loud noises amplified by the stillness of the area. _Boom. Boom. Boom._

 

“Should I even ask how you got in?” Gansey asks. He doesn’t look up to see the person taking the seat next to him. He knows it’s Ronan. No Ravenclaw would be this loud during the common room studying hour.

 

Gansey finishes the question he is on ( _What are the ingredients needed to concoct an Oculus Potion?_ ) and Ronan shrugs. Ronan waves a thick white envelope in front of his face. Or what’s left of a thick white envelope.

 

“The question was a Latin phrase. Pretty easy,” Ronan explains casually, as if walking into another house’s common room is an everyday occurrence and not a probable violation of school rules. He sets the envelope on top of Gansey’s work. It’s not a plea to open it; it’s a silent question. Gansey takes up the offer.

 

Gansey pushes his glasses up from their fallen position on the tip of his nose, sits up, and sighs. It feels unnatural to be sitting up straight again after hours of hunched-over work. His legs tingle, sharp pins and needles running their course as blood flows back into them.  He looks at Ronan, who takes up more space than he should: Ronan’s leaning back in his seat, legs spread open, one arm over the back of the chair, collar unbuttoned, yellow tie draped over his neck like a golden medal for a heroic task.  Gansey can’t remember a time where he saw Ronan’s tie on correctly. Maybe sometime during their first year, but he’s not sure. Ronan has always carried the type of swagger that drew attention to other things than his incorrect uniform.

 

“What is this?” Gansey asks hesitantly, though he already knows what it is. He picks up the envelope but doesn’t look inside. The letter is practically falling out of its tattered envelope. There are claw marks on it.

 

“Chainsaw gave it to me a little bit before breakfast. You know what it is,” Ronan replies, confirming Gansey’s suspicions.

 

Behind Ronan, Gansey sees a group of first years trying and failing to hide their astoundment. In past years it was not uncommon to see Ronan in the Ravenclaw common room. But Ronan has been a sparse decoration this year for reasons that Gansey does not want to know. But Gansey has his suspicions and they’re slightly confirmed in the splattering of bruises displayed on Ronan’s neck. Ronan’s not trying to be subtle.

 

Gansey puts a hand to his temples, fingers massaging the headache that he knows is coming. Ronan is his brother in every way but blood; Gansey would do anything for him. But Gansey is tired of cleaning up messes.

 

“It’s barely halfway through the semester, Ronan,” Gansey chides. He knows that Ronan doesn't really care what he thinks about the situation, but he says it anyways. Gansey opens the already torn envelope and takes out the letter. He reads it, and then reads it again when the the information doesn't seem to settle. “You’re failing Divination,” Gansey surmises. “Again.” He looks up. Ronan is picking at his cuticles and Gansey is far from surprised.

 

Ronan stops fussing over his nails and points his index finger at Gansey. “I will be failing Divination,” he corrects. He drops his hand and swivels slightly in the chair, not seeming to notice that the chair isn’t meant to swivel. The first years are still staring at him, their studying long forgotten. They are taking in everything from his Hufflepuff robes to his shaved hair to the small patch of dark lines that crawl up over the edge of his shirt collar. His tattoos twist and move in intricate and unknowable patterns. The first years are transfixed.

 

“Might be. Maybe. The future is hazy. I suck at reading what’s to come,” Ronan bites.

 

Gansey reads the letter once more and then sets it down on the table. He stretches his legs out in front of him, the tingling sensation almost gone. “Why does the school care now? You almost failed last year too and this didn’t happen,” he says.

 

Ronan leans forward and extends his hand and Gansey complies by putting the letter into it. Ronan points to the last paragraph. “Due to the challenges that sixth years are required to undertake,” Ronan reads. His voice is nasally and whiny as he tries to imitate the person that wrote the letter. He switches to his normal voice. “They mean the NEWTs. It’s because of the damn NEWTs. If I don’t bring up my Divination grade up, I won’t be able to play Quidditch. All because of these goddamn NEWTs.” He shakes his head. “I don’t even know why I bothered to take this class. I barely passed the OWL for it last year.”

 

Gansey sighs. He knows that the NEWTs are important, but there has to be more than that. However, pointing that out to Ronan will just do more harm than good. “Ronan, I don’t know why you are making this such a big deal. Just get a tutor. Don’t you share the Divination class with Slytherins? Ask Adam. He’s pretty good at that type of thing.”

 

Ronan stares at him. His face is blank, but his eyes are flashing. Gansey can see that he has touched a nerve. Slytherins and Ronan have never gotten along. Gansey doesn’t know why he even suggested it in the first place.

 

The paper in Ronan’s hand crumbles as he makes a fist. “Really,” Ronan says, daring Gansey to repeat what he said. “Really,” he says again for emphasis “Slytherin Adam. Slytherin Prefect Adam.”

 

Gansey shakes his head and tries again. “Maybe ask Noah then? He’s decent at divination.”

 

Ronan takes in a breath, and when he lets it out, he lets his hand relax as well. The letter falls to the ground in a wrinkled mess. He leans back and looks as composed and as intimidating as before. He looks up to the ceiling. One of the first years behind him looks up too. There’s nothing of importance there. Gansey knows; he’s spent hours looking up at that ceiling too.

 

“I actually didn’t think about that,” Ronan says. He looks back down to Gansey. “Noah will work, I guess.”

 

Gansey laughs softly. “Noah will _just_ work?”

 

Ronan nods as he gets up. “Yes,” he says. He doesn’t look at the letter on the ground. Gansey sees it as a way for Ronan to not acknowledge his impending future. But the matter of the fact is this: Ronan needs to bring his Divination grade up, or risk suspension from the Quidditch team. And for someone like Ronan, who puts more effort into Quidditch than most, the latter should not be an option.

 

But it is. Judging from the distant look on his face, Ronan is thinking of anything but his close to failing grades.

 

“Thanks, Gansey,” Ronan says. He turns to leave and Gansey throws a half-hearted wave towards his retreating figure. Ronan doesn’t see the gesture and he doesn’t wave back. Gansey knows better than to take it to heart.

 

The door shuts behind Ronan and Gansey is hit with the overwhelming quietness of the room. And it’s not the type of noiselessness that comes from studying; there are no quills scraping across parchment, no low voices discussing their next test, no off-tune humming as notes are being reviewed. The air is filled with tension and Gansey notices belatedly that everyone, including those poor first years whose jaws are practically dragging across the ground, is staring at him. Or more at the place Ronan was.

 

Gansey ignores them and leans down to pick up the fallen piece of paper. He pushes his glasses up his nose again, makes a note to fix them when he has the time, and puts his attention back to his work. Gansey finds it much easier to ignore people when he has something else to concentrate on.

 

He also knows that if you ignore someone long enough, they’ll ignore you too.

 

Soon enough the room is filled with quiet noses, comforting noises. Gansey can almost convince himself that Ronan was never here. Almost. His gaze keeps flickering to the crumbled piece of paper and his thoughts keep wandering back to their conversation.

 

He just hopes that Ronan will study and let this issue die, but Gansey knows that Ronan never takes the easy road. Ronan always forges his own path.

 

\--

 

Ronan _does_ study. With Noah.

 

They’re in an empty classroom, partly because the Hufflepuff common room was too full of students goggling over the newest addition to their magical garden and partly because it’s just too damn cold to be outside.

 

“Just look into the cup, Ronan,” Noah says, drawing out his words so they all slur. Ronan barely understands him. Noah’s beyond tired after sitting through an entire day of classes and shows it by lounging across the back of a chair. He yawns widely, his sweater riding up as he stretches, and then rubs his eyes. “Look into the tea leaves and tell me what you think,” Noah says. He’s looking up to the ceiling. His eyes fall shut.

 

Ronan humors him and looks into the cup. He sees nothing but tea leaves because that is all that there is. He’s never gotten the point of Divination. The future is uncertain, which makes the predictions uncertain as well. From Ronan’s perspective, seers can spout out something that vaguely resembles a prophecy and _bam_! That’s Divination. If Ronan had longer hair, he would be pulling it out. Instead, the loose strands on the sleeve of his sweater are bearing his wrath. “I see nothing,” he says. He swirls the little tea that is left in the cup. The tea leaves barely move, no picture forming. “I still see nothing.”

 

Noah sighs and says, “Just try again. And concentrate this time.”

 

“I am concentrating,” Ronan huffs. He looks at the teacup again, knowing that he needs to work on his practical skills in order to keep playing Quidditch since he’s already declared the written section as a lost cause. He didn’t even know that he could get suspended from playing, but it makes sense. After all, this is a school. It still doesn’t make Divination any less of a bullshit excuse for a class. “I see nothing but tea leaves,” he concludes.

 

Noah sighs and gets up. He looks ragged, hair sticking up in different directions and shirt wrinkled, as if the mini nap did him more harm than good.

 

“Tessomancy isn’t that hard, Ronan,” he says. He takes the teacup out of Ronan’s hands and looks inside of it. A few seconds pass, molasse slow seconds, and then his tired eyes go wide and he takes in a deep breath. Noah suddenly looks awake. “Ronan,” he gasps. He clenches the teacup so hard that Ronan can already see his near-future self picking up the broken pieces. (How’s _that_ for telling the future?) “Ronan. Ronan.” He sounds urgent, almost pained.

 

Ronan rolls his eyes. Divination is a joke and Noah is going along with it. “What?”

 

Noah holds the cup out. “Look,” he whispers. The temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. Ronan shivers. “It’s the grim.” Noah is visibly distressed.

 

Ronan feels a shudder go through him. He may be shit at Divination and think that the entire subject is a joke, but even he knows what the grim is and what it means. He looks into the outstretched cup. How did he miss the _grim_?

 

Ronan leans forward, concerned. Noah splashes the cup into Ronan’s face, sputtering with poorly concealed laughs. It’s a well played trick; Ronan didn’t see it coming.

 

Ronan’s face and the top of his collar drips with cold tea. A mix of leftover water and damp tea leaves coat him. Noah is laughing, holding the cup close to his stomach as he shakes.

 

“Your face!” he wheezes. “You should have seen your face, Ronan. Merlin.” Noah dissolves into giggles. It’s like the glitter catastrophe all over again. (To this day, Ronan still finds glitter in the awkwardest places. He doesn’t know _how_ glitter got inside his dress robes.)

 

Ronan glares. “This isn’t funny,” he says because it isn’t. Ronan is pissed and he knows he looks like a mess and that his shirt is going to be stained if he can’t soak it in water soon and okay, maybe it is a little bit funny. Looking at Noah and the way that he is hunched over, his eyes squeezed shut, makes the situation funnier. When he is laughing and not looking half-dead half-tired, Noah has the type of laugh that’s contagious.

 

So Ronan joins in on the laughter and laughs for so long that it gets to the point where he has to wipe away the tears in his eyes before they can run down his cheeks. It gets to the point where both boys can’t remember what started to make them laugh in the first place. It gets to the point where the Divination tools, a borrowed crystal ball from Blue and a complete china tea set that probably once belonged to a much finer wizard than Ronan and Noah put together, sit forgotten on the desks. It gets to the point that all Ronan and Noah have to do is look at each other before they start laughing again.

 

Minutes later, which seem more like hours, Noah is spread out across multiple chairs. He has one of his arm over his eyes,  and he lets out soft breathy sighs because it hurts his stomach too much to breathe deeply. Ronan has his head resting on a desk, taking in slow and measured breaths.

 

“You’re a shitty teacher, Noah,” Ronan says, once he knows that he has calmed down enough to not randomly erupt in another fit. It’s been awhile since he laughed like that. The euphoric high feels good.  

 

“And your hair is not nearly as soft as Blue’s,” Noah retorts. His breaths are deep. In through his nose, out through his mouth. “Have you tried asking Adam, though? He has to be the best in our year at Divination, or at least the best in our class,” Noah says, sounding too much like Gansey to be coincidental.

 

The atmosphere suddenly changes. Ronan no longer feels the remnants of the incessant laughing in his system. “Damn, I’m not asking fucking Adam Parrish,” he says. Ronan goes on. “Gansey told me to ask him too.”

 

He says his words in a way that’s not open for discussion, but Noah, being Noah, seems to ignore it. “Is it because he’s a Slytherin or because it’s Adam?” he asks. Noah has always had a habit of poking things that weren’t meant to be disturbed.

 

Ronan says, “Just because Adam is Gansey’s friend doesn’t mean that I have to be friends with him too. Gansey and I aren’t the same person.”

 

“I didn’t say that!” he says. “And besides, you are friends! I’m Gansey’s friend; Blue is too. We’re all friends. No not-friends spend the same amount of time together as we do.”

 

It’s true: Ronan and Adam _are_ friends. But Ronan wants to put as much space between him and Slytherins as possible. Slytherins represent Declan, represent his _father_. Ronan is his own person.

 

Ronan glares at him and Noah, for once, is smart enough to stay silent. The silence doesn’t last for long, because then there is a soft tapping on one of the windows. When Ronan doesn’t move to open it, Noah gets up.

 

“Chainsaw has a letter for you,” Noah says when he sees what is making the noise. He opens the window and lets in both the cold air and the raven. Chainsaw flies towards Ronan and lands on his outstretched hand. He takes the envelope from her beak and smooths down her feathers.

 

“You treat her like she is your child,” Noah comments. He smiles fondly.

 

“She’s nicer than you,” Ronan replies. He pets her one more time, promises her that he’ll bring her treats tomorrow when he goes up to the Owlery, and lets her go. She flies through the open window and Noah shuts it behind her.

 

“I’m hurt,” Noah says, all mock pain. “You treat Chainsaw better than you treat me.” He sits next to Ronan in a clear attempt to peer into whatever Chainsaw delivered. He touches the right part of his chest. “My heart is in pieces.”

 

“Your heart is one the other side, idiot,” Ronan says without any real venom. He tears open the letter, the movement as rough as the jagged edges that appear.

 

Noah moves his hand to the other side. “My heart is in pieces,” he repeats. He drops his hands and leans closer to Ronan. Ronan doesn’t even bother to try to hide the message; Noah would have figured it out anyways. Noah has slightly disturbing way of finding out anything and everything.

 

Noah sounds disappointed when he speaks. “It’s just a time. What?” He looks down at his bare wrist. “Fifteen minutes from now?”

 

Ronan snorts, “What were you expecting?”

 

Noah shrugs. “I’m not sure,” he admits. “Something interesting at least.”

 

Ronan gets up and waves the letter in the air in front of him. It’s the same motion he did the other day in front of Gansey, but this time Ronan’s smiling, the edges sharp and dangerous and little bit cruel. “This is the most interesting thing I’ve read all week,” he says.

 

Noah scrunches his nose in disgust. “It’s Kavinsky, isn’t it?” he asks, although he already knows the answer. Ronan is not sure why his friends ask questions that they already know the answers to. It makes replying annoying, so Ronan decides not to reply at all.

 

But to Noah, Ronan’s silence is as much as confirmation as an actual yes. Noah frowns. “He’s gross,” he whines. “I don’t know why you choose to hang out with _that_ Slytherin when there are plenty of good Slytherins to spend time with.”

 

“Like who?” Ronan scoffs. He cringes; now he is the one asking questions that he already knows the answer to.

 

Noah raises his eyebrows because he’s incapable of raising just one.

 

“Kavinsky doesn’t mean anything,” Ronan says before Noah can retort. He gathers up his stuff and makes his way towards the door.

 

“And what, Adam does?” Noah asks. Ronan ignores him and Noah continues to pepper him with questions: “Where are you going?” Noah gestures to the supplies on the table.“And are you really going to leave me here to clean up all this stuff after I’ve spent hours teaching you? Ungrateful much?”

 

Ronan shakes his head. “You spent, like, thirty minutes tops,” he says. “And where I’m going is none of your business.”

 

Noah sighs and slumps forward on the desk. He looks a little like a deflated balloon. “Sure.”

 

Ronan shoots Noah a look but he doesn’t catch it.

 

“Have fun. Don’t crash, ‘cause I know you’re racing.  Don’t get caught. Make sure he puts his hickeys in less noticeable places. Some days it’s too hot to wear a scarf,” Noah says. He sounds a bit disgusted and a bit sad, but mostly disappointed. “We’re not supposed to get any rain for the rest of this week.”

 

“Okay,” Ronan says, not confirming and not denying. His friends have figured out what he’s up to, but Ronan feels like whatever Kavinsky and he have will become something real and serious if he acknowledges out loud. If Ronan doesn’t voice it, it still feels like it’s a secret that can be easily disposed of. This way, it’s nothing more, and nothing less. This way, it’s exactly what Ronan wants.

 

He leaves the room, his fingers itching for a broom, his entire being itching for a chance to fly.

 

Flying, in Ronan’s opinion, is much better than studying.

\--

 

Twenty minutes later and Ronan has his broom in his hands. His books are in a scattered and forgotten mess on his bed; he’ll deal with the school work later. Now is the time for something more fun. He’s at the edge of the forest, and there’s just enough light to be able to see in front of him. There’s no one else around and Ronan knows there won’t be. With the two of them, there never is.

 

“Took you long enough,” Kavinsky taunts. Kavinsky never says anything plainly; he always has to have some sort of bite to his tone. Ronan smiles and it’s sharper than usual. With Kavinsky, everything feels like it has been dialed up to eleven. “Busy making out with Dick?”

 

It’s the same dance every time: Kavinsky jabs, Ronan scoffs, a cycle that has no end in sight. He knows how to play this game. Ronan, the masochist he is, enjoys watching it unfold. “If I was,” he says putting the end of his broom down into the dirt and leaning against the handle, “would I be here?”

 

Kavinsky drops his own broom on the floor and saunters forward. Ronan’s eyes track the movement. Kavinsky's tie is on tight and precise, a green and silver veneer of status. His teeth are blindly white when he smiles and he even has his stupid sunglasses on even though the sun has all but said goodnight.

 

Ronan thinks, _This is a bad idea._ His mind flicks to thoughts of Noah and how sad Noah looked when he left. Noah wasn’t sad that Ronan left him; he was sad that Ronan was going to Kavinsky. The distinction makes him feel guilty. But Ronan always has these thoughts in these moments, so they hold no weight.

 

Kavinsky grabs Ronan’s broom. His hand rests on top of Ronan’s, a heavy touch that sends sparks through Ronan’s system. Ronan lets his grip on the broom slacken and Kavinsky lets the broom fall to the ground.

 

“I shouldn’t have even asked,” Kavinsky says, slow and deliberate. He’s close enough that Ronan can smell his cologne. It’s something minty and refreshing and it takes every fiber in Ronan’s being not to equate him to Gansey. He’s here because Kavinsky isn’t his other friends. He’s here because with Kavinsky, there’s no one stopping him. Ronan’s here of his own volition, for a chance to escape being Ronan Lynch and just be nothing.

 

Not gone, just nothing. Ronan doesn’t have to think when he’s with Kavinsky and Ronan has been not wanting to think for a long time.

 

“No,” Ronan agrees. Kavinsky steps closer and snakes an arm around Ronan’s waist. “You shouldn’t have.” Ronan takes in a breath and Kavinsky closes the gap between them with practiced ease.

 

Kissing Kavinsky is like stepping into a blazing fire. His lips are rough and harsh, not at all waiting for Ronan to catch up. Kavinsky puts both of his hands on Ronan’s waist, squeezing him closer until they’re all but one. Ronan’s hands find their way to Kavinsky’s face. They part for a second to breathe and Ronan takes the time to rip off Kavinsky’s glasses and throw them to the ground. Ronan doesn’t care if they break. He knows that Kavinsky can buy another pair without batting an eyelash.

 

Ronan lets out a breathy sigh – not quite a moan– when Kavinsky’s lip find their way to his neck. Kavinsky bites down on the mark that he made there last week and Ronan’s back arches in Kavinsky’s hands. It’s always like this in these situations; in dark corners where no one can accidentally wander onto them; always hands gripping shirts hard enough to tear; always lips over every inch of skin that they can get to.

 

Ronan’s head is tilted back, his eyes are screwed shut and even though he’s pressed close to Kavinsky, he wants more. He wants to feel Kavinsky’s hot skin under his hands, he wants Kavinsky to scratch his nails down his back. Even though they’re on the outskirts of the damn forest and it’ll probably be freezing if he takes off his shirt, Ronan wants _more._ And he doesn’t get it.

 

Kavinsky slinks away and his lips are bruised red. His hair is a lost cause, mussed beyond any styled recognition. Ronan doubts he looks much better. He knows Noah is going to tease him to no end if he sees the mark that Kavinsky left, the possessive bastard. Ronan lets out a small laugh because Kavinsky kisses Ronan as if he’s saying _Mine Mine Mine,_ but their relationship is nothing but a complicated mess, a dirty little secret between the two of them. But it’s not much of a secret, is it?

 

“What’s so funny, Lynch?” Kavinsky asks.

 

“Your mom,” he replies.

 

Kavinsky’s face contorts into something that resembles a smile and then he leans in again, but not to kiss Ronan. He picks up Ronan’s broom from the ground and shoves it in his direction. Ronan takes it without argument. Kavinsky moves to his broom, and this too is a practiced movement. All their encounters go the exact same way. This – this dance that they do – has become an unexpected, and not entirely unwelcome, part of Ronan’s life.

 

Kavinsky licks his lips. “Let’s race, mofo.”

 

\--

 

Ronan is lying on his back, the grass beneath him cold as he sucks in lungfuls of air. His ribs hurt. _Hell,_ his entire body hurts. But he is sure that nothing is broken. He hopes that nothing is broken. He knows there is a cut on his forehead as well as cuts on his arms and back, but they feel shallow. The world spins above him, the sunset swirling into mixed oranges and reds and purples like a painter’s palette. He wants to close his eyes, but he knows that he shouldn’t. Instead, he forces himself to sit up and look around him.

 

Kavinsky is to his left, lying on the ground and looking up at the sky. His hand is wrapped tight around his broom, holding it to his chest. He’s laughing and smiling, a clown that chases you in your nightmares. He lets the broom roll off of him. “You’re too fucking fast, Ronan,” he says. “I had to do something to stop you from winning this time.”

 

Ronan scowls. Kavinsky’s attempt to get ahead (hitting the back of Ronan’s broom so hard that it threw him off balance and sent him spiraling towards the ground) could have almost killed Ronan. But, Ronan reflects, that is part of what makes racing fun. There’s a thrill that accompanies the unknown.

 

“Not my fault you’re slower than my grandma,” Ronan says. He looks to his right and sees his broom. Or parts of his broom, shattered and broken into unmanageable piece. Ronan knows that a simple spell won’t be able to fix this. He’ll have to buy another one. It pisses him off, he’d rather not have collateral damage.

 

“Your poor fucking broom, though,” Kavinsky laments, as if he’s actually sad. He sits up abruptly, eyes dark. He looks like he could go for another race, and Ronan knows another race would leave him with more serious injuries. “Get another one.”

 

“No,” Ronan says, “I’m just going to let myself be fucking broomless for the rest of my life.” His voice stays monotone and Kavinsky takes it as an invitation to move closer.

 

Kavinsky grabs Ronan’s chin, making him look in Kavinsky’s direction. “What a shame,” he huffs and he kisses Ronan again, this time slow and nothing like their kiss before. Ronan opens his mouth to protest because he really is pissed and not in the mood anymore, and Kavinsky slips his tongue in. Ronan lets himself be kissed for a second, two, and then pushes hard on Kavinsky’s shoulder and moves his head so his chin is out of Kavinsky’s grasp.

 

“No,” Ronan says.

 

Kavinsky doesn’t listen and tries to kiss Ronan again. “No,” Ronan says again, more forcibly. Kavinsky kisses his chin, open-mouth and wet. He drags his tongue down Ronan’s neck and Ronan shuts his eyes and pushes Kavinsky away again. This time Kavinsky stays away.

 

“For fuck’s sake, Kavinsky,” Ronan says. He’s thoroughly ticked off now, “I said no.”

 

Kavinsky puts his arms up in defense, as if to say _Sorry. Sorry._ “Damn, what crawled up your ass and died?”

 

Ronan gets up. He looks at the broken remnants of his broom and contemplates what to do with them. He could gather them up and throw them away on his way back, but if he ran into anyone, they would ask questions. Ronan doesn’t like questions. He could also just leave the pieces here with Kavinsky and let Kavinsky have his way with them. His broom would most likely end up becoming kindling. “I said no,” Ronan explains. He’s going to leave his broom here. It’s useless now.

 

He starts walking away just as the sun sets completely. He rubs at his neck, his lips, his cheeks, trying to get the feeling of Kavinsky off of him. This is another part of the routine: the guilt that comes after their time felt together. Ronan feels like he’s letting someone down, maybe himself. He feels dirty, contaminated.

 

“Let’s do this again soon,” Kavinsky shouts to Ronan’s back. Ronan raises his arm and shakes his hand in return: _yes, no, maybe, do whatever the hell you want._ The loop completes itself.

 

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

 

\--

 

Ronan’s never been more grateful for cold morning weather because he blanches when he looks at himself in the mirror; the side of his neck is covered in deep purple bruises. “Fucking Kavinsky,” Ronan mutters into the mirror. There is no one else in the bathroom to pay attention to his dilemma, but he is still quiet. Hufflepuffs might be known for their loyalty, but Ronan does not want to be the one to put it to the test.

 

He exits the bathroom and grabs his scarf, winds it tight around himself, and makes his way to the Owlery in a passion-filled rage. Ronan knows that Kavinsky likes to leave marks, but this is fucking ridiculous. He didn’t only leave with bruises this time. His right arm is a mess of scabs and his face is a criss-cross pattern of scratches.

 

“Fuck him,” he whispers to Chainsaw as he runs his hands down her smooth, black feathers. Petting Chainsaw always calms him down. Ronan runs his hand down her feathers again and smiles when she nuzzles into his palm. Students are technically only allowed to have owls in the Owlery (hence the name), but Ronan has no other place to keep her. No one has mentioned anything yet, and Ronan’s been here for six years.

 

Ronan reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a treat. Chainsaw immediately starts screeching. The raven is too smart for her own good. “Here,” Ronan says, putting his palm out in front of her. She pecks at the food and swallows it in one gulp. She screeches again but it sounds more amiable.

 

Ronan hears someone walk in into the Owlery, but he’s not in the mood to talk to people so he keeps his back towards them. Chainsaw, because she’s friendly (or maybe possessive) in ways that Ronan cannot comprehend, gives the newcomer her version of a hello (or maybe a threat).

 

The person laughs and it sounds familiar. “Hi, Chainsaw,” Adam Parrish says. Ronan turns around just as Adam says, “Hi, Ronan.”

 

Ronan wants to say hi back, but all of a sudden his throat constricts and he loses his words. _Damn Adam_ , he thinks. It’s always fumbled words and half-hearted replies with Adam. Instead, Ronan nods in acknowledgement and turns back to face Chainsaw. He finishes what he originally came for; he ties his order for his new broom to Chainsaw’s foot, double-knotting it just in case. Ronan brings her to the open window and pets her feathers one last time before letting her fly out. She should be back by the end of the day. His broom should come within the next week. He’s still pissed at Kavinsky for making him crash, but Ronan had been wanting a new broom anyways and this finally gave him the excuse to buy one.

 

Silver linings. Silver linings. The injuries on Ronan’s body seem to throb.

 

Ronan turns away from the window and starts to walk out. He tries not to look at Adam, but Adam makes it hard not to look at him. He’s all high and delicate cheekbones, soft brown hair, and a warm, sleepy smile. He looks tired, but Adam is always tired. Ronan’s always tired. Their mutual lack of sleep is nothing new.

 

“Hey,” Adam says. He’s tying a letter to a school owl, a big white fluffy thing that glares at and tries to bite Ronan every time he passes it. Adam looks at Ronan and his eyes go wide with concern, taking in all the visible marks from the crash. “You okay?”

 

Ronan is shocked by the question. His neck burns. The bruises and cuts seem more like brands than anything else. Ronan tries to disappear into his scarf, but it doesn't work.  “Been better. I crashed yesterday on my broom,” Ronan admits and he doesn’t know why. Adam doesn’t need this information, he can see it plainly on Ronan’s face.

 

“Ouch,” Adam says. He pets the owl’s feathers and the animal looks content under Adam’s touch. Ronan has no idea how he does it; the owl is an evil beast. Adam leads him to the window and out the owl goes, bright wings spread elegantly across the still cloudy morning sky.

 

“Yeah, ouch,” Ronan says his voice trailing off. He realizes that if he waits, he will have to walk all the way down the tower with Adam. Any other day and Ronan would be fine with that. But this isn’t any other day. This is a day after Kavinsky, and Ronan feels filthy and unkept next to Adam. He knows that his neck his covered, the majority of the incriminating evidence hidden from view, but the crash left all sorts of evidence and he knows Adam is judging him for his actions. And the last thing Ronan wants right now is to be judged. That’s all anyone seems to be doing and there is a hopeful yet futile part of Ronan that wants Adam to be the anomaly.

 

So before Adam has a chance to turn around, Ronan makes his way towards the door. He wants to rush down the steps and keep rushing until he’s safe in the Hufflepuff common room, but that’ll just be out-of-character and even more suspicious.

 

He walks.

 

\--

 

Blue may be short, but that doesn’t stop her from getting to places when she is pushed for time. “Hurry up!” she orders. She’s dragging Ronan behind her. The sounds of their footfalls echo through the empty hallway.

 

“Why.”

 

Blue sighs, exasperated. “Because we’re supposed to have a study session at three and what time is it?”

 

Ronan tries to shrug, but Blue’s grip on his wrist makes it a little hard. Years of Quidditch have made Blue physically strong. Years of being in a rambunctious household with aunts and half-cousins have left Blue mentally tenacious.

 

“Not three,” he guesses. He stifles a yawn. He had been napping under the shade of a tree when Blue had all but jumped on top of him, startling him awake. Now they’re marching towards the library at a pace that has Blue jogging and Ronan power-walking.

 

“Exactly,” Blue states. Ronan doesn’t understand her urgency. It’s just their friends and an informal study group. This is far from pressing news. Blue doesn’t release his hand until they’re are in the library.

 

Gansey looks up from his work when they arrive. Ronan rubs his wrist, trying to get the circulation back into it. Blue’s grip is nothing to be scoffed at. Ronan takes a seat, but doesn’t bother getting any of his books out. Blue sits next to Gansey.

 

“Where’s everyone?” she whispers, just loud enough for both Gansey and Ronan to hear. The librarians here don’t like to be tested and Blue didn’t rush over here to only get kicked out for being too loud.

 

Ronan suddenly notices that there are only three of them at the table. “See, maggot,” he says. Blue sticks her tongue out at the nickname. “We’re not the only ones late.”

 

Gansey sets his quill down. “Adam is coming after practice and Noah is”–he thinks for a moment– “somewhere.”

 

As if on cue, Noah and Adam walk up to the table. “Sorry we’re late,” Noah says as he takes his seat. “I was waiting for Adam to finish with practice.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a notebook. The front of it is filled with meaningless doodles. The inside is more than likely with drawings as well.

 

Adam sits next to Ronan. Their elbows don’t touch, but the space between them is marginal. “We went a bit over, too. Sorry.”

 

Gansey waves his hands in front of him. “Don’t apologize.”

 

“He means he wants you to tell him all of Slytherin’s secret tips and tricks,” Ronan adds.

 

Gansey frowns, but he’s not upset. “No.”

 

Blue puts her elbows on the table. She leans slightly forward, her cheeks cupped by her hands. “But they wouldn’t hurt.” She grins tauntingly.

 

Adam smiles and he looks so delicate that Ronan wants to break something. “I’m sure you’d be willing to tell us all your secrets weapons too?” Adam teases, arching an eyebrow.

 

“You drive a hard bargain, Adam,” Blue comments. She leans back in her chair and laughs. They all laugh, and the conversation dies and soon enough their squabbling reduces to quiet commentary as they all begin to work on their homework.

 

Ronan lazily flicks through his Divination textbook. Gansey had made him take it out when he noticed that Ronan wasn’t doing anything but staring into space. To Ronan, each page weighs a ton.

 

“You should at least try to study, Ronan,” Adam say when he notices Ronan’s lethargic attitude. “We have a test at the end of this week.”

 

“I know,” Ronan replies. He turns another page, even slower than before. He watches from his peripheral view as Adam shakes his head at him. The fond action makes Ronan’s stomach dance. He’s not entirely sure when he started feeling this way towards Adam, but it’s been lingering long before Kavinsky and he started whatever the _thing_ is that they’re doing now.

 

Ronan knows at first that he didn’t like anything about Adam because Ronan couldn’t understand him. He couldn’t understand why Gansey decided to be friends with him. Couldn’t understand how seamlessly he fit into their friendship. Couldn’t understand how a half-blood could grow up with no understanding of magic. Couldn’t understand why someone would voluntarily choose Slytherin when there were three other perfectly suitable houses to choose from.

 

But there are a lot of things in this world that Ronan doesn’t understand. He would like to understand Adam a little bit more, though. And sometimes, such as now when Adam is gently trying to get Ronan to do his homework with soft smiles and even softer hands, Ronan thinks that Adam would like to understand him a bit more too.

 

Ronan reads the page, and then flips to the next. It’s still heavy, but it’s more mangeable.

 

\--

 

“Shouldn’t you be studying?” Blue taunts. They’re all on their brooms, the ground a sizable distance below them. It’s been a little over two weeks since he has gotten the letter, and Ronan wants to ignore it as much as possible. Blue’s Beater’s bat swings precariously by her side, a threat that Ronan knows she is more than willing to follow through on. Her nails are painted an obnoxious red.

 

Ronan bares his teeth, does not think about how people compare him to a snake when he does, and flies a little higher. He’s not wearing any equipment aside from the gloves on his hands and the helmet on his head because he’s not stupid; he knows how hard Gansey can throw the quaffle when he gets into it.

 

And Gansey is going to get into it. Gansey, somehow and in someway, used his boyish charms to get permission to use the Quidditch fields outside of team practices. Ronan had practically jumped at the excuse to get out and fly. Sometimes it feels like the only thing that Ronan is good at is flying. Besides, he is not going to say no to the Ravenclaw Captain.

 

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” he retorts. Blue scrunches up her nose, obviously not getting what he means. “I heard you grow faster when you’re asleep, or is that just some type of Muggle myth?”

 

Blue swings her bat in a slow circle in front of her. She leans forward on her broom and zooms closer to Ronan. Ronan is not going to lie, he’s a little jealous of her broom; it’s the only thing that she has ever let Gansey buy her and, _boy_ , did Gansey go all out. It’s a sleek black Nimbus, a few models old but still fast as hell. Blue had complained about the blandness of it when she had initially got it, more for a chance to make Gansey feel embarrassed than anything else. She had solved the problem by having her mother send her multiple cans of spray paint. While the colors are covered with a quick charm (Gansey’s doing) for official matches, it’s been three weeks since Gryffindor’s last match and the vibrant colors of Blue’s broomstick shimmer iridescently in the dying sunlight. The sight is more than breathtaking.

 

“You’re _reeeeeeeeal_ lucky we’re on the same team,” she says. She punctuates the sentence with a wink and Ronan pretends to gag. She swings her bat again, clearly restless. Blue loves Quidditch just as much as Ronan does. They both want their makeshift game to start already.

 

“Noah’s neutral this time?” Ronan asks. The teams are always switched up every time they play to keep things interesting. Because of this unspoken rule, Ronan likes to know who is on his team before he passes them the ball to only have a shot fired right back at him. It’s happened before; Ronan had caught the shot but had also almost flew into the goal post. It had almost been a nasty concussion and it is something that Ronan doesn’t look forward to doing again. He loves being Keeper, but he also does not like waking up in the infirmary.

 

“Nope!” Noah replies, coming up from nowhere like he does and scaring the shit out of Ronan. Ronan’s grip on his broom tightens ten-fold and he resists the urge to knock Noah off his broom. That’s a Beater’s job, not a Keeper’s. Blue had obviously seen him before Ronan because she’s grinning ear to ear.

 

“I’m on your team today. Gansey said he and Adam could take it,” Noah says. He scoffs, “As if.”

 

Ronan laughs. The idea of Gansey playing both Keeper and Chaser is too funny to not. This game could easily end up to be a disaster. Ronan is _so_ looking forward to it. “Doesn’t Parrish know that we aren’t playing with a Snitch?”

 

“I know,” Adam answers for himself. He’s the only one out of the five of them that’s not wearing his house tie. (Even Ronan’s is messily tied on.) Ronan wonders why he isn’t, but then quickly pushes the thought out of his mind. He’s here for Quidditch and nothing else. “I can score points in other ways, though,” Adam says. He smirks.

 

Ronan smiles. That’s a challenge if he’s ever heard one.

 

\--

 

Blue’s fantastic with her bat. Just by herself, she has the boys dodging bludgers left and right. Ronan is beginning to feel slightly sorry for Adam and Gansey, but then Noah dives too late to block a shot and Ronan isn’t fast enough to stop it from going through the goal posts.

 

Adam grins when his shot goes in, satisfied. Noah sticks his tongue out. Gansey whoops from across the field. Blue swings her bat at an incoming bludger. It flies towards Gansey but misses its mark. With Blue’s track record, Ronan knows that she didn’t mean to hit Gansey in the first place.

 

Ronan huffs. He looks up and meets Adam’s eye for a second, two. Ronan looks away and the game resumes. A few minutes pass and Noah scores, weaving his way through Adam’s agile movements (a little slower than usual because Adam only uses his Firebolt Supreme in official matches) and Gansey’s botched attempt to block all three goals at once. Noah scores again with a smile, the wind pushing his pale hair out of his face. When he plays, Noah looks a little younger and a lot more awake.

 

Surprisingly, Blue even scores. She has her bat in one hand, the quaffle in the other and she throws the quaffle up in the air before hitting it like it’s a bludger. Gansey doesn’t even try to block it and Ronan doesn’t blame him; Blue hits hard. Ronan always feels a jolt of phantom pain shoot through his body when he sees someone getting hit by Blue’s bludger.

 

They have little time for celebrating because Gansey quickly passes the quaffle to Adam, who’s already speeding away from the cheering Noah and Blue. Adam might not be on his _best_ broom, but Adam knows his Comet 290 like it’s the back of his hand. He moves like he is part of the broom and not just the rider. If Ronan was made to play Quidditch, then Adam was made for flying.

 

Suddenly, Adam is in front of him and getting closer and closer. Ronan’s heart is beating with anticipation and thrill, partly because it’s Adam and partly because it’s a one-on-one. Adam flies closer and still hasn’t made a move to shoot. Usually, by this distance, Ronan can tell where the Chaser is going to shoot. It’s in the eyes, the way they hold the ball, the way their body is angled just slightly to favor a side. But Adam has no tells, or not any that Ronan can figure out. Ronan has seen the way Adam plays Seeker –with all his focus concentrated on a single item– but Ronan knows that Adam originally wanted to be a Chaser. Declan, however, wasn’t going to give up his position to someone who didn’t even know the first thing about magic before coming to Hogwarts.

 

And Adam, like everything he ever does, doesn’t play Quidditch just for the hell of it.

 

Adam makes a slight movement and it’s just the tip that Ronan needs. He’s diving left before he has a chance to think about it, confident that he’ll save it. But he dives and his hands get nothing but air. He has to pull his broom up sharply to avoid hitting the post. The quaffle goes through the right hoop and Ronan scowls. From the other side of the field, Gansey lets out a loud cheer.

 

“Nice shot,” Ronan says when he gets the quaffle back into his hands. He’s hovering over the goal that Adam aimed at, and he’s only slightly bitter. Slightly.

 

Adam nods in thanks. “Nice broom,” he replies. He sounds sincere.

 

“Came in today.”

 

“Oh yeah, didn’t you crash your old one?”

 

Ronan nods again. “Yup.”

 

Adam looks at him and Ronan can’t figure out if he’s surprised or just annoyed. He flies away and Ronan throws the quaffle to Noah. The game ends ten minutes later because it gets too dark to see clearly; Gansey doesn’t know how to turn the lights on properly and he doesn’t want neither Ronan nor Noah to try to figure it out.

 

Ronan, Blue, and Noah win. Adam gets three more shots in before they have to call it, but Ronan makes sure to block them all. They all go to the right hoop.

 

Ronan ends the game wanting to punch something.

 

\--

 

“Pretty shameful that you’re not going to be able to play Quidditch next semester,” Kavinsky says. His glasses are off and he’s polishing the lens with the edge of his shirt. He puts the sunglasses back on but pushes them up so they’re resting on the top of his head.

 

Ronan leans against the wall. It’s cold. They’re somewhere near the Slytherin common room, so the temperature seems apt. There’s no one else around. The usual, but not. Ronan’s here to put an end to whatever the hell that they are doing. What they were doing was fun in the beginning, but the bruises and cuts marking up Ronan’s skin serve as reminders that it’s turned into something destructive. Maybe it was always destructive and Ronan didn’t want to admit it until now. “How the hell do you know that?” Ronan asks.

 

“Same way that I know who’s sneaking the liquor out of the kitchen.” Kavinsky circles his left index finger in the air. “Birdies.”

 

“I’ll play next semester. Same way I did this semester, and kick the crap out of you damn snakes,” Ronan says with confidence. It’s a facade, mostly just said because Ronan can’t help but be intransigent. It’s an instinct to disagree with Kavinsky, even if the boy might hold a sliver of truth in his words.

 

The corners of Kavinsky’s lips turn up into something that resembles a smile, but there’s no warmth behind the expression. “Such bravado.”

 

“Why do you care?” Ronan asks. “You stopped playing last year.”

 

“I don’t,” Kavinsky says. “I just thought it would be fun to see your response. You’re awfully delicate sometimes, you know.”

 

Ronan scoffs. There are only a few people in the world that would describe him as delicate and Ronan would not have placed Kavinsky in that category.

 

“Besides,” Kavinsky continues. “I like seeing you on the field.” Kavinsky sounds like he is meaning something else entirely. Ronan shudders, and he blames the cold air.

 

“The field’s better without you,” Ronan says.

 

Kavinsky slides closer to Ronan and Ronan tries to take a step back, to keep the distance between them constant. It’s an unsuccessful movement because Ronan’s back is already against the wall. “How rude. I’m sure Dick didn’t teach you to talk like that,” Kavinsky says.

 

“Gansey has nothing to do with this conversation.”

 

Kavinsky leans forward and Ronan doesn’t move. “Good,” Kavinsky lets out. His breath is warm on Ronan’s skin. His lips are cold on Ronan’s.

 

Ronan’s not sure why he is allowing Kavinsky to kiss him, but his body moves in tandem with Kavinsky’s before he can process what’s happening. Kavinsky boxes him against the wall and kisses him as if it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. Ronan wraps his hands around the bottom of Kavinsky’s shirt, meaning to push him away. But then Kavinsky swipes his tongue across the Ronan’s bottom lip and Ronan ends up pulling Kavinsky towards him, closer to him. Chest to chest. Heartbeat to heartbeat.

 

Ronan would feel ashamed, but the way Kavinsky’s body presses against his stomach overwhelms every other emotion. There is no guilt for choosing  Kavinsky over his other friends; there is no shame for keeping his actions a secret; there’s no regret for coming to end this and instead starting it all up again.

 

It’s just this: two boys, always away from eyes and with enough hormones between them to make the air hazy. It’s nothing more, to Ronan at least, and it needs to stop. He needs to break this teetering orbit, burn this threadbare bridge, before he ends up hurt. Ronan’s shattered broom is just the beginning. The now healed abrasions are just the first step.

 

Kavinsky bites Ronan’s lips and moves to kiss his jawline. Ronan breathes in sharply when Kavinsky decides to bite the skin there too. Ronan presses his hands into Kavinsky’s hips and shoves him away.

 

“Hey, what the hell was that for?” Kavinsky complains. He falters for a second, unbalanced. His shirt is full of wrinkles and his eyes are dark, pupils lust blown. His glasses must have fallen off at some point because they are no longer on his head.

 

Ronan takes in another breath. “I think we should stop. This, whatever we are doing. It needs to stop,” he says and the words hang in the air for a few seconds before Kavinsky smashes them down.

 

“Are you scared people will see us, or something?” Kavinsky snarls, pointing down at the empty and dark hallway. “Scared of disappointing Dick and that sorry group of people you call friends?”

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says. His jaw is clenched. He crosses his arms. His back is still on the wall.

 

Kavinsky lets out a sharp laugh. It feels like a knife, but the edge is dull.  “Lying doesn’t look good on you, Lynch.”

 

“I never lie.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Kavinsky says. He doesn’t believe Ronan and saunters back up to him as if nothing had happened. He puts an arm on the wall, rests his weight on it. “You know, I never got why you weren’t put in Slytherin.”

 

Ronan doesn’t flinch at the change of topics. If Kavinsky thinks that he can get Ronan to drop the conversation, he’s sorely mistaken.

 

“If trash like Parrish can get in,” Kavinsky continues, “then why can’t you? You’d look better in green anyways.”

 

“Fuck off,” Ronan says again, but through his teeth.

 

Kavinsky’s expression is all blindingly sharp teeth. “House pride?”

 

Ronan forces down his anger and rolls his eyes. “We’re done. As in we’re not doing this anymore.” It feels like a breakup, but in order for something to break it had to be whole in the first place. Otherwise it’s just the inevitable: unglued pieces falling back into place.

 

This time it’s Kavinsky’s turn to protest. “No,” he answers.

 

Ronan unfolds his arms. He nods his head. “Yes.”

 

Something in Kavinsky flips. He seizes Ronan’s left hand and clutches it against the wall, pinning Ronan in place. Ronan’s face is apathetic and bored, clearly not affected by Kavinsky’s actions. “You don’t just fucking leave like that,” Kavinsky says. “You can’t.”

 

Ronan wrenches his arm away from Kavinsky’s grasp and leaves. Just like that.

  


\--

 

The end of the semester comes all too fast. Autumn air gives to a winter’s chill and snow decorates the ground like confectioner’s sugar, light and sweet. There are only two more weeks until the end of the term and all the students are at their ends, trying to scramble up passing grades and complete final assignments. The entire campus seems abuzz with nervous, contagious energy.

 

But it’s also the last weekend that students are allowed to go out and Noah and Blue know how to persuade with their puppy eyes and desperate pleas.

 

“It’ll be fun,” Noah says, tugging on the edge of Ronan’s sleeve. They’re in Ronan’s room, the rest of his suitemates out and about doing who knows what. “I know you’re not going to be studying anyways,” Noah continues. “And everyone else is going, so you should go to.”

 

Ronan glares at him but Noah only grips on tighter. “There is literally nothing to do in Hogsmeade,” Ronan says. It’s not a lie, because Ronan doesn’t lie, but he’s not telling the whole truth either.  

 

“I’ll buy you a butterbeer and a few things from Zonkos if you come,” Noah says. He lets go of Ronan’s sleeve, knowing that he has won the argument.

 

Ronan doesn’t look at him when he spits out, “Fine.” He knows that Noah is smiling at him but he doesn’t need the confirmation. He was going to say yes anyways because Blue had asked him to tag along earlier, but Noah doesn’t need to know that.

 

They’re now right outside of The Three Broomsticks. It’s not cold enough for the chill to set into Ronan’s bones, but the winter air still warrants jackets and the like. Ronan’s scarf hangs loosely around his neck and his hands are jammed into the pockets of his pants, fiddling with the few trinkets that Noah had bought him. (A few Sugar Quills and a handful of Hiccough Sweets. Noah had asked him why the Hiccough Sweets and Ronan had just smiled and ate one, almost immediately hiccuping. They were just now starting to die down.)

 

“Do you think they’ll hurry up?” Noah asks, his teeth chattering. He moves his scarf to cover the lower part of his face. Noah is always cold and because of that he doesn't do well in the cold weather. He has a burgundy beanie shoved onto his head and it flattens his blond bangs down to the front of his face. The hat is obviously not his, because it’s a bit too small to properly fit and Noah doesn’t own anything Gryffindor related. Blue does, however.

 

Ronan hiccups before replying. Noah would elbow him in the stomach if he wasn’t trying to conserve all his body heat. “You can go in, if you want,” Ronan offers. He knows it’s not fair to make Noah wait here when he is obviously uncomfortable. It’s not his fault that their friends are running late. “Go and get us a table and I’ll come in as soon as they get their lazy asses here.”

 

Ronan thinks Noah smiles. He’s not sure because Noah’s mouth is covered by his scarf. Noah turns and practically runs into the building behind him. Ronan can feel a gust of warm air hit his back when Noah opens the door. Ronan prepares himself to wait for a while since technically Ronan and Noah were a bit early and Blue has a tendency to run a bit late.

 

He tries to forcibly get out the last of his hiccups as he waits. Ronan had only bought the sweets because Noah was paying for it and had only eaten one because Noah questioned it. Ronan’s chest is starting to hurt from all the hiccuping.

 

Luckily, Ronan doesn’t have to wait long because Blue, with Gansey by her side, comes walking up at a leisurely place. They’re walking close enough to make it seem as if they were holding hands, but they’re not. Ronan wishes they would address the tension because sometimes it’s painful to look at them dance around each other. Blue looks up and smiles once she catches Ronan’s eye. She stops walking a few feet into front of him and then tilts her head towards Gansey, a silent type of explanation.

 

Gansey doesn’t immediately notice that Blue is no longer by his side. He walks forward, his legs on autopilot, talking animatedly about something or someone. (With Gansey, it’s likely to be either.) He nearly runs right into Ronan. Ronan puts an arm out to stop him from falling onto the ground.

 

“Oh!” Gansey exclaims in shock. His face is flushed red and Ronan can’t tell if it’s because it’s cold out or if it’s because of the conversation with Blue. “I didn’t even see you there. Did you know that Muggles don’t use quills? Instead they use these things called pens, which have the ink already stored inside them! Jane told me about them.” He looks towards Blue expectantly, waiting for a reply.  

 

Blue does not hide her laughter well. “I just think that quills are a waste,” she says. She looks at Ronan and explains. “He found my stack of pens and I had to show him how they worked.”

 

Ronan nods, understanding only slightly. Out of their group, Blue and Adam are the only ones that have ties to the Muggle world and for some reason Gansey is beyond fascinated with that fact. Sometimes it’s amusing to see Gansey get so involved in mundane Muggle things such as pens or cameras. (“They’re like magical cameras! But the pictures don’t move, but then there can be this thing called a _video_ where they do move! Isn’t that just so intriguing?”) But it can also be somewhat annoying, such as now when Gansey’s natural curiosity makes him late.

 

Ronan moves to go inside. Blue asks where Noah is and Ronan explains how he is already saving a seat for him. No one asks where Adam is because everyone already knows that Adam doesn’t even bother trying to get his parents to sign the permission slip. Sometimes, Ronan notes, his friends know when to not ask questions.

 

“I’m offended, Jane,” Gansey jokes as they walk in. Noah waves them down from the back where he’s sitting alone at a table. There are already four drinks there, hopefully warm. “Quills are not useless!” Gansey continues. “They have history. And charm! They can perhaps be called the basis of the modern-day magical society.”

 

Ronan snorts as they sit down. Gansey is still rambling and Ronan only pays slight attention to him. Ronan unravels his scarf from around his neck and drapes it over his chair. Noah takes off his beanie and hands it to Blue. She takes it from with with a small, fond smile, but still rolls her eyes. Noah avoids answering her silent question by asking what they are talking about. His hair is plastered down on his forehead and Blue ruffles it. It’s so disgustingly sweet that Ronan has to roll his eyes.

 

“How much do you know about pens?” Gansey asks once they’re all seated. Noah leans forward, intrigued.

 

\--

 

“Exams are going to be killer,” Blue says. She drags a finger across the rim of her drink. It’s her second butterbeer, but her fourth drink overall. Ronan is still nursing his first one, wanting something a little stronger, preferably firewhiskey,  but he knows that he’s not going to get it. At least not tonight. Probably not for a while.

 

Across from her, Gansey shrugs. “You’ll do great, Jane,” he says and then turns his gaze to look at Ronan. “What about you, Ronan? How is your studying going?”

 

Ronan takes a long swig of his drink before replying. The butterbeer goes down smoothly and leaves a faint, sweet aftertaste. Sometimes he finds butterbeer too sugary for his tastes, but his cup has found that perfect balance. “Fine,” he says.

 

“I know some tutors, you know,” Gansey says and Ronan groans. He should have known. His friends mean well; he knows that they all care. But if they’re here just to pester him about his less than stellar grades, Ronan’s leaving.

 

Ronan moves to do just that but Blue catches his wrist. It’s not a tight hold and Ronan knows he could break it easily if he wanted to. The loose grip means that Blue is not forcing him to stay, but that she wants him to stay of his own volition. Ronan appreciates the difference.

 

“Sorry,” she says. “We don’t mean to be pushy.” She lets go his wrist and Ronan settles back into his seat. “I just think that it would be really shitty if Gryffindor played Hufflepuff and swept them because they don’t have their usual Keeper.” She grins and he can see what Gansey sees in her. (Maybe Noah, too. Ronan is still trying to figure those dynamics out.)

 

Ronan scoffs, “Matthew is not bad at being a Keeper, you know.”

 

Noah says, “But he is mainly a Seeker.”

 

Gansey chimes in before the conversation can veer towards Quidditch entirely. “We don’t want you to fail, okay? And I don’t understand what your problem is with Adam, but he can help you. Is it because he’s a Slytherin? Because I can get that: your whole family was in Slytherin but then you come in and the hat barely touches your head before declaring you a Hufflepuff and then Matthew comes in a few years later and he gets sorted into Hufflepuff too. I get that,” Gansey says. Ronan knows that Gansey might act like he knows, but he really doesn’t. Even if Gansey knows, that doesn’t mean he can understand.

 

“It’s not because he’s a Slytherin,” Ronan says, words sharp. That’s only part of the problem. The rest of the problem has to do with the fact that Adam is a Slytherin Prefect, on the Quidditch team, as a Seeker. It’s everything that Ronan has trying to distance himself from the day he got his Hogwarts letter. Ronan is different from his father. He’s different from Declan. He’s not a mold that’s waiting to be filled in.

 

Noah takes a sip of his drink, some kind of warm herbal tea, and speaks into his cup. His voice comes out muffled. “Obviously. Ronan hangs out with Kavinsky every other day.”

 

Ronan’s tone grows more pointed. Why are his friends so invested in his life? Sometimes their affection feels more like suffocation. “We don’t hang out anymore, Czerny,” he corrects.

 

“Oh,” Blue says, trying to hide her surprise. She fails. “That’s not a thing anymore?”

 

Ronan gulps down the rest of his butterbeer. This time it burns and the sugar sticks to the roof of his mouth.  “It never was a thing,” he says. It’s the first time he has acknowledged whatever the fuck was going on between him and Kavinsky out loud and it feels like some sort of closure. Closure that he is not sure he deserves.

 

Gansey looks like he is going to say something, but then he thinks against it and stays silent. Ronan orders another drink and pays for it himself. The conversation slowly moves towards more neutral topics and Ronan slowly starts to feel himself relax, the coil of tension in the bottom of his stomach is unraveling.

 

No one brings up studying nor Adam nor Kavinsky and Ronan is content.

 

His butterbeer still tastes like shit, though.

 

\--

 

Ronan starts off the second semester in the worst way possible. The weather has been less than ideal, the heavy rain and fog making flying, let alone Quidditch, impossible. But it’s not like it matters, because Ronan is facing a two-game suspension. To top it all off, his Hogsmeade privileges have also been revoked. He knows that he didn’t fail his classes, but he almost did and the school is sharpening their fangs and sending a clear message: this is no longer acceptable.

 

Declan’s ignoring him too, which isn’t new, but even Matthew seems concerned and Ronan hates having his younger brother worry for him. Younger brothers aren’t supposed to worry about their older brothers. Ronan certainly never worries about Declan.

 

“You’re going to be studying, right?” Matthew asks. They’re walking from the Hufflepuff common room to the dining hall, and while Matthew is dressed to go out and face the elements, Ronan is burdened with his books. He has a Divination test in a week and for once he’s determined not to go in and wing it. Gansey had told him that it was better to start off the semester with a good grade rather than trying to bring it up. Ronan is taking his advice.

 

“I’m going to eat first,” Ronan says. He shifts the books in his hands and remembers why he doesn’t study places other than his room. His hands feel numb. But then again, Ronan doesn’t study much at all. “But then, yes, I will study.”

 

Matthew smiles, cheerful. “Good. I don’t like you and Declan not getting along.”

 

Ronan laughs. “Then you should talk to Declan, not me,” he says.

 

Matthew thinks over his reply. “True,” he says. “Just study, okay? Don’t just eat and then take a nap or something.”

 

Ronan is a little hurt by how little trust his brother has in him, but he knows that Matthew means well. All his friends mean to help him, not hurt him. While he is touched, he wishes that they would just leave him to his own devices. But that’s not going to happen, so Ronan lets the feeling pass. Contrary to popular belief, Ronan does put thought behind his actions. “I promise,” Ronan says.

 

They say their goodbyes and Matthew promises that he’ll buy Ronan something from Zonkos and Ronan asks for Hiccough Sweets. Matthew says no and Ronan tells him to stop hanging out with Noah so much.

 

The dining hall is almost empty when he walks in. The majority of the students are out at Hogsmeade, enjoying the melting snow and sunny weather. It’s the first nice day all semester, even if it is still freezing, and Ronan is stuck inside, studying. He eats in silence and ignores the pile of books around him. No one sits down besides him, which doesn’t bother Ronan because, really, the only people on campus are first and second years and Ronan does not want to be bothered by them. But then someone does sit near him. Ronan makes an effort to not look their way, but it doesn’t work. It never works with Adam.

 

“Morning,” Adam says, looking out of place with his green tie and and soft smile. He sits across from Ronan and helps himself to the toast that’s in the center of the table. He butters it and takes a bite before looking up. Ronan is staring at him. “What?” Adam asks.

 

Ronan looks away and pushes his plate forward. It’s empty, aside from a few crumbs that aren’t worth eating. “Why the hell are you here?” he means to say but it comes out as, “Nothing.”

 

“I ran into your brother on the way here,” Adam says. He clarifies when Ronan raises an eyebrow. “Matthew, not Declan. He seemed surprised to see me.”

 

“He probably thought that you were going to be out with everyone else,” Ronan says. He looks at his books and then looks away. Adam notices.

 

“Matthew knows that I don’t go to Hogsmeade, but he did tell me about you studying,” Adam says.“I didn’t think he was telling the truth.”

 

“Matthew’s not one to lie,” Ronan says. None of the Lynches are. Adam should know this.

 

“I know, just,” Adam says. “Ronan Lynch, studying? I never thought I would see the day.” He smiles widely and loads more food onto his plate.

 

“You still haven’t.”

 

Adam swallows before replying. “He asked me if I could tutor you, too.” He doesn’t sound enthusiastic and Ronan tries not to let his disappointment show on his face. One of the reasons that Ronan didn’t ask Adam was because he knew that Adam was going to say no. Sometimes it’s better to hold a whimsical dream for a _yes_ then face the harsh reality of a _no_.

 

“I’m fine by myself,” Ronan says. He starts to get up and then realizes that if he does, Adam is winning the battle. Ronan was here first and Adam is not going to make him move. For some reason, everything with Adam seems like it’s a competition. A competition that Ronan must win.

 

Adam does not look convinced. “Sure,” he says. He takes another bite of his food and Ronan makes it a point to not look at him. “I don’t mind helping you, Ronan,” he says. His voice is low and secretive as if he’s saying something infinitely more intimate. “I don’t want to help you if you don’t want to be helped.”

 

“I’m fine,” Ronan rushes out, not giving himself time to think. Adam doesn’t look surprised and Adam’s apathy unexpectedly hurts. “I mean,” Ronan starts, but then realizes he doesn’t know what he means. All he knows is that Adam has a tendency to make everything in Ronan’s life more complicated than it actually is.

 

“Oh,” Adam says.

 

“I mean,” Ronan says again, “that would be pretty cool if you could help.”

 

“Oh,” Adam says again. “Sure. Just let me finish eating, okay?”

 

Ronan feels slightly at ease. “I hope you’re a better teacher than Noah.”

 

Adam smirks and it’s the same expression he wears on his face when he scores against Ronan in one of their pick-up Quidditch games. “Your bar isn’t set drastically high, then. But don’t tell Noah I said that.”

 

Ronan says, “Noah would know without neither of us telling him.”

 

“You’re very right about that,” Adam replies. Ronan waits while Adam finishes eating. The silence between them is a comfortable one.

 

\--

 

Even before Adam was helping with Ronan’s studies, they would still walk to class together, Noah being the catalyst for their conversations. But now they walk out of class together and other places together and it’s so _easy_ that Ronan doesn’t even notice what’s happening until it already is.

 

They have to work in partners for a project in Divination class and Ronan automatically looks up to Adam, but Adam isn’t looking his way. Ronan knows that he isn’t the only person in Adam’s life, but they’ve been spending so much time together (when they’re studying and even when they’re not studying) that Ronan just assumed that they would be partners. They were partners for their last project. Ronan knows that he needs to stop assuming.

 

“Partners?” Noah asks, his voice telling Ronan that he knows too, but that he’s not going to pry.

 

“Sure,” Ronan says and he gathers his stuff so he can move to where Noah is sitting. By the time he gets himself situated, the teacher is already explaining what they need to do. All Ronan catches is that they’re using crystal balls because Adam is directly in line of his sight and he’s leaning over the table just slightly, laughing at something his partner (another Slytherin that Ronan does not know the name of, maybe Henry, maybe Harold, who knows) had said. Ronan tears his glance away because it feels like something that he shouldn’t be watching.

 

Noah flicks him in the forehead. The teacher stops talking and the students around them start working, Adam and the maybe-Henry-maybe-Harold included. “Stop being so obvious,” Noah says. “Or switch seats with me if you can’t.”

 

Ronan looks at him, questioning.

 

Noah lets out a loud sigh, loud enough that a few other students look their way. “You know what I’m talking about Ronan, and if you can’t stop staring and start concentrating, I’m going to tell Blue that you’re the one that stole her fingerless gloves.”

 

“You wouldn’t,” Ronan challenges. It was an accident, really, and Ronan still isn’t sure why he hasn’t given Blue back her gloves. Blue had given him the gloves to hold on to sometime last year and they both had forgotten about it. Blue had gone on a week-long rampage to find her gloves and had declared that once she found who had taken them, the perpetrator wouldn’t be able to breathe again. Ronan had found them in the pockets of his jacket a little after Blue’s declaration. While Blue might be small, Ronan knows she can pack a punch because Ronan had taught her how. Blue still doesn’t know that Ronan has them and she would throw a fit once she found out. Her mother had sent her a new pair, but still. He doesn’t want to risk it.

 

Noah laughs. “No, I really wouldn’t. But, can you at least try to focus?” he asks.

 

Ronan lets out a sigh, only mildly relieved. He knows better than to take Noah’s words at face value. “I’ll try,” he says. And he does, he tries. But Adam’s partner keeps making jokes (Ronan is pretty sure it _is_ Henry) and Adam keeps laughing at them. The image in the crystal balls keeps getting murkier and murkier the more Ronan stares at it.

 

\--

 

The stadium is flying with yellow and green, clashing colors that seem to fight each other in the wind. The only time Ronan hasn’t been playing in a match, aside from his first year, was when Hufflepuff team wasn’t playing and so it is jarring to see his teammates warming up without him. He feels like he should be there, stretching and having Noah throw him shots to warm up.

 

“Why are you so jumpy?” Blue asks. She has a green stripe painted on one cheek, a yellow stripe on her other. Unlike most of the boisterous people in the crowd, she’s going for both teams. Gansey is by her side and is sporting the same look. However, all three of them are sitting on the Hufflepuff side.

 

“It feels weird to not be playing,” Ronan admits. “I feel like I should be.” He also feels restless.

 

“Is Matthew the Keeper today?” Gansey asks, his hands on the railing as he tries to look for Ronan’s brother on the field. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that it’s technically Ronan’s fault that he is not playing, and Ronan appreciates it. Ronan’s not in the mood for someone to rub salt into his wound.

 

Ronan shakes his head. He spots Matthew right away, passing to Noah even though he doesn’t need to be. They’re talking and Ronan has a small suspicion that he’s their subject. “No, he’s sticking to Seeker. I think he really wanted to play against Adam,” Ronan says. He’s glad that Matthew is playing Seeker for this match, but he doesn’t tell them that.

 

“Ah!” Blue says, sounding excited. She rubs her hands together in a sinister way, looking like a cheap villain to a kid’s show. “Adam verses Matthew. This should be fun.”

 

Ronan nods in agreement. Though he is not playing, watching a fast-paced Quidditch game is fun, even if he has to ignore the way his fingers itch for a broom. The game starts and soon enough Ronan’s throat is hoarse from yelling. They cheer when Noah loops around the back of the goalpost and sneaks through the Slytherin Chasers. The bludger that was behind him slams into one of the Slytherin’s following him, knocking her off her broom. She rights herself before she falls off, a scowl on her face.

 

“If that was my shot,” Blue says, “she would be in the infirmary before she could even realize what was happening.” Ronan doesn’t doubt her. He’s been in the infirmary because of Blue more times than he would like to admit. Typical dangers of offering to practice with Blue Sargent.

 

They cheer when Noah’s purposefully wide shot ricochets off the Keeper’s hand and into the goal. Across from them, the Slytherin side is booing, but then they start cheering when the Slytherin Chasers make up the point. They cheer even louder when the Slytherin Chasers keep scoring.

 

However, twenty minutes into the game and Hufflepuff is leading. Ronan feels absurdly proud of them because they’re holding up their own without their main Keeper, making up the points that they give away. But with it comes the idea that the Hufflepuff team doesn’t need him. He tries to push it away, but it sticks.

 

Blue, maybe because she’s Blue or maybe because she notices Ronan’s tense shoulder says, “Imagine if they had you there. Hufflepuff would be wiping the floor with the Slytherins.”

 

Ronan allows himself to laugh, allows the worry to fall away. “Careful,” he says. “I thought you weren’t supposed to show favorites.”

 

“Ronan,” Blue says matter-of-factly. “We are literally sitting on the Hufflepuff side.”

 

Before Ronan has a chance to make a witty comeback, (with Blue, it always has to be something witty. Their personalities match up too much to just be cordial with each other.) the crowd gasps and Gansey says, “Adam’s found the Snitch.” He points to the other side of the field just as Adam takes a crazy, almost completely vertical, dive. His uniform is a trail of black behind him, blending in with the darkness of his broom. Adam is a naturally fast flyer, movements lithe and almost unknowable, but with his Firebolt Supreme (everyone on the Slytherin team has the exact same type of broom. When together, the Slytherin team holds an aura of intimidation and superiority with their identical looks. Ronan is sure that even their socks match.), he’s nothing but a blur.

 

Ronan’s eyes immediately try to find his brother. While a part of a Seeker’s job is to look for the Snitch and obviously catch it, another, and just as important, part is to watch the other team’s Seeker– just in case they see it first. Ronan finds Matthew hanging above the Hufflepuff goal. His legs are swinging lackadaisy beneath him. He either hasn’t seen Adam, or doesn’t care about Adam’s movements. Both seem unlikely.

 

“It’s a farce,” Blue declares. A second later, Adam pulls his broom up, abruptly stopping. “He was just trying to get a reaction out of Matthew to throw him off. Matthew saw through it, though.”

 

“That’s dirty,” Gansey says. He sounds like he is torn between being shocked that Adam’s trick didn’t work and being proud that Matthew didn’t fall for it. Ronan relates, since he’s feeling the exact mix of emotions as well.

 

“Please,” Blue says. Judging by her tone, this is not the first time she and Gansey have had this conversation. “As it’s any dirtier than aiming a bludger at someone. It’s all just part of the game.”

 

Gansey starts to reply, but then the Slytherin side erupts in loud cheers as they score once more. They score again soon after and Ronan hears the announcer say Declan’s name. Slytherin may be trailing, but the team is far from giving up. Ronan would be disappointed if they were.

 

The game keeps going back and forth, but the Slytherin team can’t seem to find a way to get a solid lead. The Hufflepuff team might let in more points than they usually do, but they’re fighting hard. Ronan wouldn’t be surprised if Noah sets his own personal record for amount of points scored in a single match.

 

Matthew is circling the entire field when he suddenly flies higher only to fly straight down. In the exact same second, Adam is flying towards the same area. The both look as if they’re going to hit the ground. They pull up at the last second and Ronan can see Matthew using his shoulder to push Adam out of the way. Ronan can’t help but grin as Matthew speeds up and pushes his broom to its limits.

 

They chase each other and the Snitch, Adam pulling ahead slightly only to have Matthew pull ahead in the next second. They’re rising and swerving, diving and racing. The game around them continues and Hufflepuff scores another point, the people around Ronan going wild with excitement and joy.

 

“They’re both so fast,” Blue says in awe. Ronan agrees.

 

Finally, in what seems like hours but has to only be a minute at the most, Matthew stretches his left hand out, his right hand gripping his broom like a lifeline. At the height that they are flying at, it is. He leans forward and then abruptly jerks to the left, away from Adam and away from the Snitch. Ronan can’t figure out why, but then he sees a bludger pass in the exact same area that Matthew just vacated. Matthew doesn’t seem startled, at least as far as Ronan can tell, and he quickly gets back to chasing the Snitch.

 

But it’s too late. Adam’s fingers close around the Snitch, close around the game-winning points. The Slytherin side is vociferous in the cheering as the announcer confirms the win. Ronan’s fingers curl into fists. If only he was there.

 

“Come on,” Gansey says. He sounds winded even though he didn’t play. He tilts his head towards the exit. Around them, many of Ronan’s housemates are gathering their stuff and moving in a subdued silence. They’re upset, but not devastated. Ronan thinks he feels a few eyes staring at him, but he ignores the feeling. He already knows what they’re thinking. He’s thinking it too. “That was a great game,” Gansey says.

 

Blue punches Ronan in the arm, but it doesn’t hurt because she hadn’t intended for it to hurt. “Let’s go congratulate Adam,” she says.

 

Ronan shrugs, knowing that he looks as bitter as he is feeling. Adam might be his friend, or something of the like, but Ronan’s house just lost. Noah lost. Matthew lost. Ronan can’t help but blame the outcome on himself.

 

“Don’t blame yourself, Ronan,” Gansey says. “Blame Slytherin and their unorthodox tricks. Did you see that last bludger? That was totally an arranged play. Adam didn’t even flinch when he saw it coming towards him.” Gansey sounds hurt, as if he was the one that they made the play on. He sounds like he does when his house finishes playing Slytherin. Gansey always has so many questions (mostly accusations) for Adam, but Adam always smiles sheepishly and admits nothing. Ronan knows that Gansey is going to corner Adam the second he finds him and the image is enough to lift Ronan’s spirit, even if it’s only a little bit.  

 

“Can I blame Declan?” Ronan asks, joking.

 

Blue laughs and punches Ronan in the shoulder again, a bit harder but still without any real intent. Gansey shakes his head, unsurprised.

 

“Sure,” Gansey says. He stretches out his hand for Blue to take and she easily twines their fingers together. Ronan wants to sigh. _Finally._

 

“Lead the way,” Ronan says and he follows them out of the stadium to meet up with the rest of their friends.

 

\--

 

The noon sun is bright and hot, but under the shade it is nice enough that Ronan finds himself dozing off, his hands underneath his head and his books forgotten to the side of him. It’s a Friday a little bit before lunch is served, and Ronan is waiting for Adam to be done with one of classes so they can study together. The lake is nearby and small waves of cool air rush over Ronan’s skin. Would it really be so bad to take a nap? Surely he wouldn’t be asleep for long, because Adam would wake him up. Right?

 

“Sleeping?” Ronan hears a voice say. He opens an eye and sees Adam standing above him. Adam shrugs off his messenger bag and sits cross-legged beside him. “Wake up. I know you get enough sleep as it is,” he says.

 

Ronan complies, but he also complains. “How do you know? Do you stalk my room?” He shakes off the grass from the back of his uniform.

 

Adam shakes his head. Adam’s brown hair is a little longer than he usually lets it be. Ronan realizes he’s staring, but keeps looking. “No,” Adam says. He opens his bag and takes out a few items. He spreads them across the grass in front of him. It strikes Ronan how at ease Adam looks, almost as if he was born to be taking in the sunlight, surrounded by the vibrant green of the grass and the clear blue of the sky. “But I do have enough classes with you to know that you sleep through most of them,” he says, teasing.

 

“Have you ever stayed awake during a History of Magic lesson?” Ronan asks. “Have you?”

 

Adam thinks for moments before admitting that he hasn’t. “I’ve tried really hard, though. It’s not like it’s a boring subject. It’s just–” The last syllables drop of his tongue as he tries to think of the proper word to describe the class.

 

“Boring,” Ronan supplies.

 

“Sure, boring,” Adam says, not looking convinced. He lets the subject drops and asks Ronan to take out his Divination homework. Ronan takes it out; it’s just a blank paper.

 

“We’ve had this assignment all week and you haven’t started on it yet?” Adam asks. “Ronan, it’s due the next time we have that class, which is this Monday.” He looks Ronan in the eye and Ronan looks right back at him, challengingly.

 

“Actually,” Ronan admits, “I haven’t even looked at the paper.” He knows that he shouldn’t be doing ignoring his work, but it’s all too easy to _not._ He only meets up with Adam once, maybe twice, a week for study sessions. (The rest of the time they’re together, but not studying.) He’s not blaming his lack of motivation on Adam at all, but it’s also easier to let someone else be the scapegoat for his problems.

 

“Ronan,” Adam says and he sounds disappointed, but not angry. Ronan would rather have him be angry. Anger is something that Ronan knows well. He doesn't know how to navigate what Adam is throwing at him now. “Ronan, that doesn’t make it any better.”

 

Ronan’s throat constricts with something that he can’t quite name. Shame, maybe. “I’m sorry?” he offers. All of a sudden the nice day doesn’t seem so nice anymore. The shade feels cold. The books by his side take on a looming presence. “I just–”

 

“Ronan, I don’t want your excuses,” Adam says, his tone rising with emotion.

 

“Then don’t ask for them,” Ronan interjects. His mouth moves before he can think about what he’s saying, an instinct to defend himself.

 

Adam’s hands pull out strands of grass. “What do I ask, then?”  He lets go on the strands but the breeze isn’t strong enough to take them anywhere.

 

“I don’t know,” Ronan says. “Divination is a stupid subject and I don’t see the point in any of it.”

 

“Divination doesn’t care if you think it’s stupid, Ronan. Your grade doesn’t care if you don’t see the point in it,” Adam says, getting more frustrated with every word.

 

“Is that supposed to make me care about the class? Because it doesn’t.”

 

Adam starts to gather up all his items. So much for this studying session. “If this is how you’re going to act, then go study on your own,” Adam says through his teeth. “I won’t waste my time with someone who doesn’t even care enough to do the assigned work.” He shoves his papers messily in the bag, an action that is not Adam at all and stands up. He has grass all over him. “Have fun failing.”

 

“You know,” Ronan says before Adam can move away. Their argument is attracting stares but Ronan, as Adam stated earlier, doesn’t care, “at least I’m not trying to be something that I’m not.”

 

Adam narrows his eyes. His fingers clench the strap of his messenger bag. “What the hell do you mean?” he asks. Ronan can tell that he is trying hard to keep his temper down. Adam’s anger is all or nothing, and Adam clearly wants it to be nothing.

 

Ronan shrugs. He knows he should shut up now, that he’s already said too much, but he still goes on anyways. “At least I’m not trying to act like a fucking pureblood. It doesn’t matter how many times you look into the mirror and see the green tie and the prefect badge, you’re still not a pureblood. Come on, Adam, you can’t even go to Hogsmeade because you can’t get permission from your Muggle mom. Your only decent broom technically doesn’t even belong to you. You could at least be like Blue and know where you came from instead of trying to cover it up with tricks and spells.”

 

Adam makes a pained noise and Ronan immediately regrets everything that he said. He didn’t mean to hurt Adam– well, he did. Ronan hit all the spots that he knew would hurt. Adam is touchy about his family situation. Being a half-blood but not growing up with any magical influence will do that to a person. Being consistently put down because of your status doesn’t help either. “What the fuck, Ronan,” Adam says. His eyes darken with fury. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

 

“At least I’m true to myself,” Ronan replies. He wishes he had a timeturner so he could stop his past self from starting the argument. But he doesn’t and the words hang in the air between them, stinging and venomous. Just like a snake.

 

“Just because you’re trying to get rid of your magic, just because you’re ashamed of being in a family that has a legacy of being in the stereotyped bad house, just because you’re emotionally stunted and have to resort to cheap jabs doesn’t make you a better person, Ronan,” Adam spits. His face is flushed and his fingers are white where he is gripping his bag. Adam might not have the lexicon nor the fluid usage of his diction like Gansey, but Adam has intent and his words carve malicious tattoos onto Ronan’s skin.

 

Ronan shrugs. It stings, but he isn’t going to let it show. He leans back down in the grass and closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to see Adam’s face because all Ronan will see is how badly he messed up. He had a chance, even if it was small, and he blew it. Ronan should have known; he’s not meant to handle delicate materials. They always end up ripping in the end and fragments of an item are never the same as the whole thing. “I didn’t say I was,” he says, just because he can. There’s not much that can make this situation worse.

 

“I can’t believe you,” Adam says. “Wait, no. I can. I can believe you because you have to keep up this facade of not caring because you’re too afraid to admit that you do. You’re a goddamn coward, Ronan. You’re the one here that actually is running from their past.

 

“You’re not your father, you’re not Declan, you’re not Matthew. You’re Ronan. Maybe when you finally wrap your head around that, you’ll stop hiding. In the meantime, don’t _fucking_ talk to me, Ronan. Fuck off and fail yourself.”

 

Ronan doesn’t open his eyes until he is sure that Adam has left. Ronan might have not been able to say anything to make the situation worse, but Adam could and he did. Ronan’s eyes sting with unshed tears. He doesn’t cry, he just takes a deep breath and thinks of going to the Owlery to have Chainsaw find Kavinsky. He wants to feel nothing. He doesn’t go through with the plan, because like Adam had said, Ronan is a coward.

 

Ronan stays outside until the sun sets and then makes his way back to the Hufflepuff dorms in the dark. He can’t bring himself to take out his wand, let alone cast a spell to light the way. Ronan figures if he falls, he deserves it. It’s just the universe balancing itself out.

 

\--

 

Noah is the first one to to notice that something is wrong, but Blue is the first one to mention it. The three of them are in the library and Ronan is beating an incessant rhythm onto the table with one of Blue’s pen. The librarian throws him a look but he shrugs it off. The worst thing that can happen is that he gets kicked out of the library. And in Ronan’s perspective, that’s not a bad thing at all.

 

“Stop it,” Blue says half-heartedly. She doesn’t even bother to look up. She turns a page in her textbook and scowls at the small words printed on the page. Ronan recognizes the feeling.

 

Ronan’s drumming slow downs to a slow _tap tap tap_. It’s not much better. Blue kicks him under the table, right in the center of his shin so it’s bound to leave a mark. Blue doesn’t look up from her studying, but she lets out a coy smile. Noah, who is sitting by her side with his own work scattered about him, takes the opportunity to reach over the table and snatch the pen out of his grasp.

 

“Hey,” Ronan hisses.

 

Blue replies, “Please, as if you were actually working.” Noah puts the pen behind his ear and sits back in the chair, smug. Ronan does not appreciate the double-teaming.

 

Ronan has nothing to say, so he rests his head on the table and figures he might as well kiss any hope of good grades goodbye. _Bye bye, Quidditch_.

 

“What did you and Adam get in a fight over?” Blue asks.

 

Ronan lifts his head to stare at Blue. She smiles. It’s times like these were Ronan curses her stubbornness. “What, did you think that we wouldn’t notice that you and Adam have been avoiding each other like the plague? I thought he was helping you out with your studying, but you’re here, and you’re not studying so.”

 

“It’s complicated,” he says.

 

Blue purses her lips, unimpressed. “Clearly.”

 

Noah chimes in, “Do you think you can pass without him?”

 

Ronan’s first answer is no, he can’t. But then he thinks. After the fight, he hasn’t really even thought about trying to pass. He hadn’t wanted to pass. He still doesn’t, but now he’s thinking that maybe he could. Ronan still doesn’t have any of the practical skills needed, but Adam and him and gone over all the conceptual items until Ronan had seen them in his sleep. “I think,” Ronan admits.

 

“Then do it,” Blue says. She makes it sound simple.

 

“Yeah,” Noah says. “Do it.” He smiles in not-so-innocent way and Ronan knows that he means something else entirely.

 

“It’s not that easy,” Ronan says. He’s not sure if he’s referring to the test or patching things up with Adam, or both. There’s a good chance that Ronan’s talking about both, even if he doesn’t know it himself.

 

“Study,” Blue says.

 

“Apologize,” Noah says.

 

They both sound as if they are talking about the exact same topic and Ronan wants to flip the table. He won’t, though. “I don’t know how to,” he says. It’s applicable to both situations. Ronan has always crammed for any important tests,  filtering knowledge through his short-term memory and forgetting them the second he walks out of the test; Ronan isn’t one to easily forgive people, let alone apologize to them. This isn’t the type of situation he can run from, but the path in front of him is hazy at best.

 

“Fumble for a little bit, then,” Blue says. She’s back to looking at her notes. She reaches towards Noah and grabs the pen resting on his ear.  Noah pouts and Blue presses a quick kiss to his cheek. Noah flushes red. “You’ll still get there, even if you’re a little slow.”

 

\--

 

Ronan’s game suspension stings. Especially because it’s two Hufflepuff games, not just two games in general. At least this time he belongs in the stands. That fact only makes the situation slightly better. He would still rather be flying than watching.

 

“Adam better not try anything funny again this game,” Gansey says once they find their seats. The three of them – Ronan, Noah, and Gansey – hadn’t made it to the game as early as they would have liked to and therefore they’re sitting high up, not close to the railings like they usually do. Ronan looks down the side. The ground is ways away.

 

It’s already a windy day and being higher up makes the wind more violent. The red flags around them whip ferociously. Noah is shaking beside them, his hands shoved into Gansey’s pockets because he had conveniently forgotten his gloves. Ronan had told Noah to make sure not to forget anything when they were leaving the Hufflepuff common room and Noah had looked right at his gloves and then shrugged, saying that he had everything he needed.

 

Ronan meets Noah’s eyes and Noah giggles. Gansey certainly has a type.

 

“Adam’s not the only one that’s tricky,” Noah says, his teeth chattering. “It’s the whole Slytherin team. I hope Blue hits a few right in the face.”

 

“Just not Adam,” Gansey says. He looks away from the field and to Ronan. “Right, Ronan?” he asks.

 

Ronan keeps his eyes trained on the field. All the players look so small, more so than the usually do. Ronan can see Adam by the goalpost, stretching his arms above him, so confident in his flying abilities that he’s able to have both hands free. Ronan’s always impressed by Adam’s subtle confidence. “Yeah,” he agrees. He still doesn’t look at Gansey. “Just not Adam.”

 

Noah smiles. “‘Course not.”

 

The air buzzes with anticipation. The whistle blows and the game starts.

 

\--

 

Blue gets a fist to her eye ten minutes into the game. Ronan jumps, but his action is nothing compared to the way Gansey and Noah react.

 

“Punch him back, Blue!” Noah screams right into Ronan’s ears. He’s still yelling that now, even though the game has ended and Blue is in front of them, smiling happily because of her win and the fact that the boys ( _her boys_ ) came to the locker room to see her after the game.She’s still in her uniform, hair matted down with sweat.  Her eyes are only a tiny bit glassy.

 

“Nice shiner, Sargent,” Ronan says in lieu of a greeting. He puts his fist out and Blue bumps it with her own.

 

“It hurts like hell,” she admits, smile slipping just slightly. She has an ice pack pressed to her eye, but it doesn’t cover the entire bruise.

 

“I’m pretty sure the bludger that you aimed at his back hurt more,” Ronan says. When Blue’s shot hit its target, Gansey had yelped, partly in shock and partly in delight, and Noah had just screamed, “That’s what you get!”

 

Blue shrugs. She takes off the ice pack and rubs her eye with the bottom of her jersey. The upper left side of her face is covered in purple, but Blue wears her bruise proudly. The bruise makes her look tougher, and she knows it. “You get what you deal out. That’s Quidditch.”

 

“That’s an awfully black-and-white way to look at it,” Adam says from behind Ronan.”But I’m glad you’re okay. He kind of deserved it anyways; he’s a bit of a dick.” He walks up to Blue, still wearing his uniform and hair messy from the game, and apologizes for his teammate’s behaviors. Blue laughs it off.

 

“Trust me,” she says, “if I wanted the guy in the infirmary, he would be in the infirmary. I just wanted to scare him a little bit.” She smirks and Noah steps forward to hug her.

 

“You scared us!” Noah complains, hands wrapped tight around Blue’s shoulders. “We thought you were going down!”

 

Blue laughs softly. “Sorry,” she says. She’s only hugging Noah with one hand because her other hand still has her ice pack in it. Noah lets her go after a moment and ruffles her hair. She playfully scowls at him.

 

“I’m glad you’re safe, Jane,” Gansey says. He looks down to the ground and then back up, searching for his words. “Noah was right; we were scared.” He looks up to Ronan and smiles. “Ronan was too, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.”

 

Blue smirks. “Aw. I’m glad you care, Ronan,” she sarcastically replies, but there’s warmth behind her tone.

 

Ronan scoffs and rolls his eyes. He was worried, but he also knows that Blue wouldn’t go down unless she wanted to go down. And in all the years that Ronan has known her, Blue has always come back up swinging. :Course, maggot. Who else could I team up with to wipe Gansey’s ass at Quidditch?”

 

“What, and the rest of us can’t do that too?” Adam asks. His tone is light-hearted and for a second Ronan can fool himself into believing that nothing has happened between the two of them. But Adam’s jaw is tight and even though he’s smiling, Ronan can tell the expression is strained.

 

And Adam is looking everywhere but at Ronan. It stings more than Ronan had thought it would. _Look at me_ , Ronan wants to say. “Never said that, Parrish,” he says instead. “Just acknowledging Sargent’s skill.”

 

Blue preens under the compliment. She looks at Ronan and winks. “Rightfully so.”

 

Adam bows his head and laughs. He meets Ronan’s eyes and softens just a bit. Although Ronan can’t turn back time and take back what he said, he feels that with time they’ll be okay. They’ve already fallen apart, so all they can do now is put themselves back together.

 

\--

 

Ronan’s is almost late for Divination, which means he actually is late because the teacher has a tendency to start class a few minutes before the listed starting time. And the infuriating part of it all is not walking into class late and feeling everyone’s stare on him, it’s walking into class late without meaning to and feeling Adam’s eyes on him.

 

Ronan had meant to lie down for a few minutes. A few minutes rapidly turned into a few hours, and when Ronan walks into the classroom, the quiet conversations happening turn even quieter. Ronan quickly rushes into the first open seat he sees. It’s next to Adam.

 

Across the room, Noah waves at him sheepishly, as if saying _What can you do?_ He’s sitting next to a Slytherin boy with hair that sticks straight up, more products piled in to it than actual strands of hair.

 

“Noah said that you’d show,” Adam comments, but he’s not looking at Ronan. _Time,_ Ronan thinks.

 

Ronan puts his bag on top of his desk and takes out the assignment that’s due. “Well, Noah does know a lot of things.”

 

“He does,” Adam agrees, but he sounds a bit cold, a bit far away. But not as far away as he was before. It’s slow progress.

 

The classroom quiets down as the teacher calls attention to the front. She explains that they’re to partner up with the person sitting next to them and use their practical skills, practice for the upcoming final.

 

If you asked Ronan at the start of the school year what he thought about his practical skills, he would laughed because to him there was difference between tea leaves or tarot cards; they were all nonsensical ideals.

 

But while Ronan and Adam weren’t in rocky water, the majority of their study sessions together were filled with just practical skills: laying out cards and memorizing their meanings until Ronan saw them in his sleep; looking into a crystal ball for so long that Ronan could no longer see his own reflection in the glass; reading tea leaves until Ronan could smell was tea and more tea.

 

Tarot card readings? Easy. Being paired up with Adam? Not so easy. Tarot cards can be used to describe the future, but more than not they’re used to translate current emotions into a physical, readable mode.

 

“Partners?” Adam asks, even though they have already been assigned. He pulls out his own deck of cards out from his bag, and even though they look a bit worse for wear, they’re a comforting sight for Ronan. Ronan knows these cards. Ronan knows these cards won’t betray him.

 

“Partners,” Ronan confirms.

 

\--

 

Adam shuffles in the same manner as he does everything else: smooth, elegant, with purpose. He fans them out on the desk so they’re all visible. The gold-painted decorations on the backs gleam in the light. “One card, or three?” he asks.

 

“One.” Ronan runs his hands over the cards, searching for a feeling of warmth, searching for the card he’s supposed to pick. With tarot cards, you can always tell which card is yours if you put enough attention into it. And Ronan’s been working all semester at paying attention.

 

It’s on his third time of going over the cards he feels something tug at him. It’s the card at the very end, the furthest one away from Adam. Ronan lays his hand on the card and pulls it out. He flips it in front of him.

 

“Three of swords,” he observes. The card has a detailed red heart on it with three swords stabbing at it from different directions, imperfection at its finest. Their textbook says that the card symbolizes loss and pain, everything that Ronan has tried to push down and not feel. But the tarot cards don’t care if you’re trying to ignore feelings. Ronan is extremely glad that he chose only to pick one card. He doesn’t want his thoughts spilled out before Adam like this. It makes Ronan feel raw and unsure. He’s reminded why he doesn’t care much for Divination; with Divination, the cards can tell anything and Ronan doesn't like to not be the one in control.

 

Adam studies the card from his side. He turns it to face himself. He looks at Ronan, but then quickly looks back at the card. “Hurt,” Adam says, running his fingers around the tattered edges. “You’re hurt. Or you’ve hurt something.”

 

Ronan clears his throat. Adam turns the card back so it’s facing Ronan right-side-up. Suddenly everything in the room seems too colorful, too bright, too noisy. “Regret,” he corrects. “But still hurt, I guess.”  Adam slowly nods, understanding the implication. It’s the closest Ronan has come to saying he’s sorry.

 

Adam sweeps all the cards back up into the deck and hands Ronan them to take. Ronan’s shuffling is not nearly as pretty Adam’s (It doesn’t even hold a candle up to Blue’s flashy style.), but it gets the job done. Ronan cuts the deck and then shuffles the cards once more. He fans them out on the table and waits for Adam to pick.

 

Adam’s quick in his decision, and like Ronan, he only picks one. He turns it over. To Ronan, it’s right-side-up, which means it’s the opposite for Adam. Of course Adam’s prediction would be something that Ronan struggles to interpret.

 

It’s the star: a kneeling woman holds two urns of water, pouring them out and onto the ground. The sky is a kaleidoscope of blues. The scene is breathtaking, which makes sense since the star is regarded as the most beautiful card in the deck. Ronan can hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Looking to the future?” he guesses.

 

Adam has his eyes trained on the card, as if the card is going to disappear when he blinks. As if the card is just a figment of his imagination. “It would be, but it’s the reverse star.”

 

“Looking to the past then,” Ronan says. “Lost hope.” The words feel bitter on his tongue.

 

Adam shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something, but then thinks against it. Ronan swallows. The air becomes thick and heavy and the lights in the room seem even brighter. Ronan doesn’t want to hear what Adam’s going to say because it’s not going to be good. Suddenly Ronan’s thoughts of making things right with Adam come crashing down. Of course, he blew his chance, and Adam doesn’t give out second chances lightly.

 

Ronan knows that he does not deserve second chances, but the action of not getting one hurts more than the thought ever could. He takes in a breath and slowly lets it out.

 

“No,” Adam says. He shakes his head and reaches his hand out to touch the card. He takes it in his hand and flips it over, inspecting the back just in case something else might show up. He sets the card back down and looks at Ronan. “It’s more, like, looking for a reason to hope.”

 

Here is Adam, extending out an olive branch, and Ronan can’t find the words to accept it. But it’s okay, because Adam knows Ronan and Ronan knows Adam. Adam’s not expecting an answer right away.

 

Adam gathers the cards back into the deck. He shuffles them and then asks Ronan if he wants to try again. Ronan denies and Adam puts away the cards without objection. “Tea leaves or crystal ball, then?” Adam asks.

 

“Neither?” Ronan offers.

 

Adam lets out a small laugh. “I wish,” he says. “I wish.”

 

\--

 

The year comes rushing to an end. Ronan feels like he’s drowning in paper and ink and then all of sudden he is facing his last exam and the last few days of school stretch out impossibly long before him.

 

His last exam, ironically in a sense, is Divination. He walks out the exam with his head held high. He might not have gotten a top score, but he was aiming to pass and he knows he blew by that mark. There was no reason for him not to.

 

Ronan’s going to be able to play Quidditch next year, and that is really all that matters.

 

“Do you think you passed?” Adam asks, coming up to Ronan’s side. He has bags under his eyes from late nights spent studying, but he looks relieved. Tests are gone and summer rests before them.

 

Ronan grins. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “You?”

 

Adam smiles. “Fuck yeah.”

 

Ronan puts his hands in his pockets and takes in a deep breath. He’s played Adam’s words over and over in his head, thinking about ways to respond. At first he couldn’t believe that Adam was giving him a second chance. Then, he couldn’t think of a way to properly respond. But that was then and this is now: Adam is standing in front of him looking exhausted but content, heavy but satisfied. The school year has come to a close, but there are still other things that need to be mended.

 

“I’m-,” he starts. “I’m sorry. For the things I said before.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Adam says, “for the things I said before too. Thanks for apologizing, though.”

 

Ronan nods and looks up to the sky. It seems unnaturally blue. Perfect for flying. Ronan has an idea. “Hey,” he says, “do you want to go racing tomorrow?”

 

Adam’s eyes widen in surprise. “Racing?” he asks. “Tomorrow? Ronan, we’re leaving tomorrow.” He sounds exasperated, but not reluctant.

 

“I know. But we’re not leaving until noon. That’s plenty of time.”

 

Adam sighs. “You’re not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

 

Ronan shakes his head. “I’ve missed flying.”

 

“Sure,” Adam says. “I’ve missed flying, too.”

 

\--

 

Ronan’s feet hang idly over the ground. He contemplates doing a quick lap around the area, but the thought is quickly vetoed. Adam could get here any moment, even though they didn’t agree to get together for another fifteen minutes. Ronan doesn’t want to think about it and doesn’t have to think about it because then Adam’s suddenly there.

 

“I figured you would be early,” Adam says, looking up. Ronan jolts in surprise but maintains his balance. He’s only a few feet off the ground so he swings his leg over the broom and jumps. His cloak rushes behind him. He doesn’t know why he bothered to wear it; summer is here and it’s hot. He takes it off and feels lighter than he has in a while.

 

“Noah tell you?” Ronan asks. There’s a few feet of space between the two of them but Ronan doesn’t want to be the one to close it.

 

Adam laughs and Ronan can’t help but smile. “No, surprisingly. I just know you.” Adam gets on his broom and kicks off. It’s his Comet 290 and Ronan can’t picture Adam here with anything else. Ronan knows him too.

 

Ronan takes off after him and easily catches up. They fly leisurely around, talking without really talking. Ronan stares at the stadium below him. The stands look barren and desolate without students in them. Ronan’s never been scared of heights, but looking down and realizing that it’s just the two of them makes Ronan take in a shaky breath.

 

“Race you to the goal,” Adam says. He points to the goal furthest from them.

 

“Isn’t that what we came here for?” Ronan replies, but he freezes. Racing used to be a _Ronan and Kavinsky_ thing, and Ronan is not sure why he asked Adam out here anyways. It’s the last day, they should be packing and scrambling to make sure they don’t forget anything, not setting up races and being reckless about time.

 

“Ah, true.” Adam flexes his fingers and tightens his grip. It’s something Kavinsky would never do. Ronan feels idiotic for comparing the two of them in the first place.

 

“Good luck,” Ronan says. He leans down on his broom, his weight towards the top. He wishes he had brought his gloves, but blisters are a problem that Ronan is willing to deal with. “You’re going to need it.”

 

“Cocky,” Adam scoffs. He counts down from five. All his numbers are evenly spaced, allowing no room for Ronan to call him out for cheating. The moment that Adam finishes saying _one_ , both boys take off at neck-breaking speeds.

 

Adam is initially ahead, using his momentum and natural agility to power his motions. But Adam’s broom is only fast for short distances; Ronan knows that Adam knows this. Ronan pulls ahead in the final spurt and finishes a broom-distance ahead. Ronan flies through the left goalpost, whooping for his victory. He loops back through the other goalpost.

 

“I think your luck is faulty,” Adam says. His face is flushed red and his hair has been blown back from the wind. He smiles and Ronan doesn’t see Adam the Slytherin or Adam the Student or Adam the Halfblood. He just sees Adam Parrish, and he’s so beautiful.

 

“My luck is perfectly fucking good,” Ronan retorts. He hopes that the blush creeping up his face can be mistaken for the wind rubbing his cheeks raw. “Works fine on me.”

 

“Your luck is just a special brand, meant for Ronan Lynch and Ronan Lynch only.”

 

Ronan lets out a small laugh. “Maybe that’s it,” he says.

 

Adam is suddenly closer. Their brooms hang in the air, suspended high off the ground, and are almost touching. Ronan doesn't remember Adam getting this close. “Maybe, maybe,” Adam teases. He looks down and then look back up. Even though the question is aimed towards Ronan, he asks the sky. “Can I ask you something?”

 

Ronan swallows. His fingers squeeze the handle of his broom. “Yeah.”

 

Adam looks at Ronan. “Can I kiss you?”

 

Ronan looks back. “Yeah.”

 

“Yeah,” Adam repeats, half laughing. Adam smiles as he leans towards Ronan. Ronan’s eyes slide shut. Their kiss is mostly smiles and very little kiss, but Ronan doesn’t mind. It’s slow and it’s chaste, nothing but tentative lips against lips and it’s so much better than Ronan could ever imagine.

 

The world around them seems to dissolve. All Ronan can focus on his how Adam’s lips feel moving against his, slightly chapped but still unbearably soft. Kissing Adam makes Ronan forget everything, forget that he’s on a broom; he leans forward and reaches out a hand to cup Adam’s face.

 

But Ronan _is_ on a broom and he tilts forward and keeps tilting forward because the air won’t do anything to stop him from gravity. His eyes fly open as he realizes what’s happening. He crashes into Adam, their heads banging together painfully.

 

Adam’s added weight does not help Ronan’s falling fight. Adam leans back and Ronan leans forward and for a split second Ronan feels like he is falling. The sensation has never scared him before, but this isn’t like any of those other times.

 

Luckily, Adam manages to stay upright and he pushes Ronan back onto his broom, making sure that they both are stable. Ronan’s heart races and Adam starts laughing. Adam takes his hand and places it on top of Ronan’s, a comforting gesture. Ronan’s heart continues to race.

 

“This was such a bad idea,” Adam says. “We’re going to miss the train.”

 

Ronan disagrees. He’s had bad ideas. He’s made those bad ideas into bad actions. But here, on broom and feeling disconnected from the rest of the world, Adam is holding his hand. Ronan might have fallen – both metaphorically and literally–  but the important thing is that Adam didn’t let him drop. The most important thing is that Ronan is free to hold Adam’s hand back. He does.

  
“We won’t miss the train, Adam,” he reassures, even though he doesn’t know if his statement is true. “But this?” Ronan shakes his head and squeezes Adam’s hand. “This is the best idea yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @ [_onceandforall](https://twitter.com/_onceandforall) or tumblr @ [romanuva](http://romanuva.tumblr.com/) for more crying about ronan and adam, among other things.


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